


The 7 Habits of Highly Effective Dark Lords

by abstractconcept



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Um. Tattoo!sex. Mentions of unusual sex toys. Bad puns. Forgive me.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-07 00:54:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4243290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is the new Dark Lord. He rules the world with a compassionate and well-intentioned fist. Snape takes the phrase, ‘Oh, fuck the boss!’ rather literally. SS/HP, mentions of HP/DM. Humour/Romance/Smut.<a id="cutid1" name="cutid1"></a></p>
            </blockquote>





	The 7 Habits of Highly Effective Dark Lords

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my boss, for inspiring me. HBP SPOILERS. lol you can tell I'm importing. Trying to catch notes like that but whatever, man.

**The 7 Habits of Highly Effective Dark Lords**

“Malfoy, I _order_ you to kiss that child!” Harry fumed, thumping a fist on his throne. Malfoy began to lift his lip in his characteristically disdainful, yet still somehow endearing sneer, but stopped when Harry jabbed the end of his wand toward him. His face twitched, settling back into a meek expression.

“Yes, Master.” Scrunching up his nose, he extended his pursed lips as far as they would go, as though trying to detach them from his face altogether. He bent, but stopped several inches from the girl’s cheek as if to air-kiss. A glance at his Master showed Harry’s eyes were narrowed, and one black-winged brow rose high in a threatening manner. Lucius changed direction, slowly bringing his lips to connect briefly with the top of the girl’s curly head. With a loud kissing noise, he straightened abruptly, looking hopefully toward the throne.

The Dark Lord gave a reluctant nod of acceptance. “Good. Now. Keep in mind that in order to serve me effectively, you need to be client-focused. Comfort her,” he instructed.

Lucius looked to Severus, vaguely bewildered. Severus, who stood off to one side and slightly behind the diminutive Dark Lord, could only shrug. Ever since Potter had managed his ‘hostile takeover’ of Voldemort’s organization, he’d got some rather strange ideas in his head. Still, he was powerful, and that made him difficult to argue with. Taking a deep breath, Malfoy reached out one chamois-gloved hand and patted her tentatively on the head. “There, there,” he said in a dead sort of voice. The child did not stop sniffling.

“She’s still crying, Lucius,” Snape noted with a certain amount of satisfaction. “You’re supposed to be getting her to stop.”

Lucius shot him a furious look, then knelt next to the girl. “Now, now, everything’s all right,” he said through clenched teeth. “Let’s just stop crying, shall we?” he added in a painfully sweet voice. “Or else Uncle Lucius is going to have to—” he broke off as the Dark Lord cleared his throat in a meaningful way. “Er, that is…” He looked panicked for a moment before searching his pockets. “I’ll give you a whole shining Knut if you’ll just stop crying,” he said rather desperately.

“Don’t want it,” the girl responded.

“Look, you rotten little—that is, ah, what would it take to get you to stop crying?”  
  
The girl wrapped her arms around Lucius’ cane. “The pretty silver snake stick,” she said.

Lucius’ face ticked. He was frozen for an interminable moment before his eyes were drawn to the side, taking in the way Harry was twirling his wand round in his fingers. “Fine,” he snarled, straightening. “Take it and be gone with you, then!”

She squealed with happiness, straddling the cane and galloping away as though it were a hobbyhorse.

Potter sighed, shifting impatiently on his silk cushion. “That really is pathe—I mean…Lucius, I appreciate your efforts, but would you be open to a little constructive criticism?”

Lucius’ eyes darted around the room, but none of the other former Death Eaters would meet his eyes. “Oh…absolutely,” he replied with a sort of wilted enthusiasm.

“Oh, _good_. When we _comfort_ someone, we generally take an interest in their feelings. We attempt to alleviate their pain. We talk to them, empathize with them, and search for a solution to their unhappiness. We DO NOT _BRIBE_ THEM to go _away!_ ” he shouted.

Malfoy flinched. “Well, really, it was a dirty little Muggle—”

“ _Crucio_ ,” Harry said coldly. After watching the man writhe and jerk on the floor for several moments, Harry took the spell off. “You see, when _they_ hurt, _you_ should hurt as well. You have no compassion, no moral compass, which was why you were such a horrendous father, why Draco ended on the path he did—which is why—is why—my husband is dead!” he finished with an anguished sob.

Snape looked at him, annoyed. “You were _not married_ to young Mister Malfoy, unless at the height of the war the two of you nipped off to Vermont or the Netherlands or something, and the rest of us simply failed to notice.”

Harry sulked. “Shut up, Snape.”

Snape fought to keep from rolling his eyes. “Yes, Master.”

OoOoOoOoO

In a fit of self-pity, Severus managed to escape the endless torture and ‘Dark Lord’s Seminar for Ten Steps to a Nicer You’ long enough to steal into the Leaky Cauldron for a tipple.

With an elbow on the bar and his forehead resting in his hand, Snape let the weight of his current situation show, his shoulders bowed, his strength sapped. “How did it ever come to this?” he asked, _sotto voce._

Tom smacked Severus’ drink down before him. “You want to know how it happened? I’ll tell you how it happened…

“It started with a simple dislike of authority. Harry never liked anyone trying to tell him what to do, did he? Those Muggle relatives of his, his teachers, the Ministry, even his friends…and then the war came, and so did secrets—oh, how he hated those secrets. The deaths affected him, too—that Diggory boy, his own godfather, Albus Dumbledore…I think the feeling of being powerless just ate at him, you know? Just nibbled away at his soul, like a mouse nibbling away at…some small…cheesy thing or summat that mice like.”

Snape’s head lolled on the counter. “Shut up. _Please_ shut up,” he begged.

“Anyway, you killing Dumbledore just about drove him to distraction,” Tom went on. “After he left Hogwarts, well…his two closest friends went with him, but of course in the end he’d have to face the man alone, so he sent them away…rumour is that the friendship had crumbled, in any case. When those two fell in love, he was shunted to the side, abandoned once again. It’s a pain that no doubt hasn’t healed.”

Severus tried putting both hands over his ears, but it didn’t help.

“Of course, then he met Draco…” Tom talked loudly over Snape’s protestations about how they’d _already_ met, thank you very much. “And fell in love. Ah, it was songbirds and picnics at first, and a hope for the future Harry had never before known. It was the only time he’d ever touched happiness.”

“If ‘happiness’ is Draco Malfoy’s cock, I suppose,” Snape grunted, tossing back his drink. Tom generously poured him another.

“Of course, the Weasley girl didn’t take that well—she’d always been madly in love with Harry. She just wouldn’t let go, said she couldn’t live without him. When he rejected her, it was the beginning of the end. She vowed revenge—revenge upon him who spurned her affections, and him who seduced and bewitched true love from her arms. She fled to the Dark Lord, then, and betrayed us all—so many deaths and so much pain, all for a schoolgirl’s slight.”

“I know, I KNOW, I was THERE, damn you!” Snape hollered.

Tom continued as though he hadn’t heard a word. His voice fell to a whisper. “They say the earth itself wept that day, the day the Dementors were set loose. They say the whole world cried out in agony, and down came a torrent of rain like the tears of a thousand widows. And Draco Malfoy, selfish, cruel young creature that he’d always been, went to his father and made a plea to save Harry’s life—to stop the terrible destruction that was about to be wrought. Ah, he could have moved a heart of granite, so beautiful was he in his passion, so poignant were his words.”

“For _fuck’s sake_. He said, ‘I don’t think this was a very good idea, Father.’ It was hardly Charles Baudelaire.”

“And for speaking his heart, for speaking the truth, what did he receive? Naught but the green light that carries with it death!” Tom cried, shaking a fist in the air. “Death! Not from his father—no,” he resumed, when he was able to swallow the lump in his throat and blink back the tears in his eyes. “But word had reached He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and so he fell like an angel from glory.”

“Of _course_ it reached the Dark Lord’s bloody ears; he was standing less than a metre away! Stupid git should have known better than to say something like that right in front of the man—and there went all those years I spent protecting the sodding runt, right down the loo!” Snape roared. Tom handed him another glass, which he gulped at greedily.

“Oh, how it broke poor Mister Potter’s heart,” Tom lamented. “He’d lost the most valuable thing he’d ever possessed, the one person who’d been his alone, his beloved, his soul mate! Their love will never end—so entwined were their spirits, that not even death could sever them completely.”

“They _shared_ a bloody _wank_ after meeting _here_ and being too drunk to realize!” Severus replied belligerently. “ONE flipping toss off does _not_ a romance make!”

Tom’s face, which had been tilted up toward the heavens as though seeing straight through the ceiling to admire Draco Malfoy on high, flitting from fluffy cloud to fluffy cloud, gradually lowered dejectedly toward the floor. “It was the worst mistake He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named could ever have made. When Mister Potter discovered the fate of his darling, he fell upon the former Dark Lord like Vengeance itself. So powerful was his magic that he tore through the defensive wall of Dementors, leaving them shredded and tattered on the moors, so mighty were his spells that the Death Eaters trembled and fell on their faces, begging for mercy, and so swift was his retribution that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named could not utter one word before he was cut down, banished from this plane forever.”

“ _I_ did not _beg_ ,” Snape informed the man with great dignity. “I made a reasonable and well-thought-out request for leniency, founded on the fact that Albus had forced me to kill him, and it was all part of the Headmaster’s plan for me to return to Voldemort.”

Tom shook his head sadly. “He was never the same. The death of his cherished one, the betrayal of a trusted friend, the inaction of the Ministry, and above all, his own inability to control things…well, is it any wonder he chose to seize power? Inside, he’s just a child still, desperately longing for someone to save him from this nightmare, to assure him that it’s all right for him to rest—to give up control. Deep inside, he’s still Harry Potter.”

“ _Thank you_ , Mister Backstory,” Snape growled, giving the man a dirty look and a miniscule tip. “My... _mark_ is informing me my Master requires my presence,” he added in explanation, sweeping away.

Another patron took Snape’s place at the bar. “Gimme a Firewhisky straight, would you?” he said. He glanced at the few Knuts on the counter. “Not a good tipper, eh? What kind of bleeder is he?”

Tom pinned him with a fervent eye. “What kind of bleeder is he? I’ll tell you what kind of bleeder he is…

“It started in the nursery, for poor Severus Snape. His mother loved him, but she was a weak, weak woman, and his father resented him—envied his powers, hated his existence. Oh, the pain he was made to endure!…”

OoOoOoOoO

When Severus entered the Dark Lord’s office, he found Harry with head bent over a stack of paperwork, muttering to himself as he reviewed his Administration’s most recent expenses.

“Sixty-five Sickles for ‘Hocus Pocus Hot Oil Hair Treatments’...God, Malfoy, what you need is a good pair of scissors...eight hundred Galleons to the Remus Lupin Memorial Orphanage, good...FOUR THOUSAND GALLEONS FOR SPELLED-TO-SMELL-FRESH TOILET SEATS!? Who the HELL is responsible for THIS?”

“I believe Hagrid is currently...ah, ‘housebreaking’ his brother and the rest of the giants to whom you so thoughtfully gave civil recognition after the war. You may certainly revoke them, but it would be politically and hygienically unwise, in my opinion.”

Harry sighed. “God, the giants. That’s another problem. Do you know that one of them actually managed to get loose in Leeds and _eat_ a Muggle the other day?”

“Indeed?” Severus shifted awkwardly on his feet.

“Mmm. I’ve _tried_ talking to Hagrid, but he insists that a good spray of water on the nose and a firm, ‘Bad Ug,’ or whatever the hell its name is will eventually work. He does have his heart in the right place. And he knows how to think outside the box. Have a seat, would you?”

Snape’s face froze. “If my Master would be so good...?” he inquired through clenched teeth, when it became obvious that Harry had forgotten just _where_ he’d placed the mark.

“Oh, is it still on?” Harry waved his wand, and the former Potions Master-cum-spy sagged in relief. “Terribly sorry about that, you know how it is; you turn it on, get distracted...”

“Indeed,” Snape replied coldly, taking his seat. He squirmed a bit to sit gingerly on his left butt cheek.

“Where was I? Oh, the giant. All right, so he didn’t actually _swallow_ , he just sort of...”

“Masticated?”

Harry looked confused. “Are we on the same page here?”

“I beg your pardon, Master. I’d forgotten that your vocabulary is picayune at times. It means...chewed upon.”

“Oh. Yeah.” The Dark Lord still looked rather suspicious. “Chewed. Anyway, they got the poor bloke out in time, and thank goodness for Hermione—she both healed him up and wiped his memory clean, so no harm done. I expect he wondered why he was standing there sodden with what he couldn’t realize was giant drool, but that’s the way it goes.”

“I see. _Master_ , is there some particular reason you sent for me?”

Harry looked up sharply, probably because Snape always managed to say ‘Master’ in such a significantly venomous tone. Still, he did not address it. “Yes. I wanted to touch base with you—go over our game plan. These finances…they’re not very good, are they?” He bit his lip, looking frustrated.

“Well, that’s only to be expected.”

“Because it’s the dawn of a new generation, the war made a shambles of things, and it’s bound to take a while to sort out?” Harry asked hopefully.

“No, because you are an idiot, changing over an entire currency system is an unprecedented horror so soon after the upheaval of the war, and the people who are currently in control of the Wizarding World’s money are the least appropriate people possible.”

Harry glared, fingers spasming as if he wished to clench his wand. Or possibly Snape’s neck. “Fred and George made an unbelievable profit at their shop. They’re good businessmen. They’re proactive, not reactive.”

“Yes, and the world _needs_ more multicoloured dragon dung, I’ve no doubt. That’s hardly a solid foundation for an entire country’s finances. If you want to sort things out, you _know_ the solution: give the goblins their damned bank back already, and let them deal with things.”

Harry looked conflicted for a long moment before his face congealed back into something like hatred. “Tell me again, Snape, why do I keep you around?”

Severus’ eyes narrowed. “Because I am the only one with the bollocks to tell you the complete and utter truth, no matter how painful for you _or_ me.”

“Right,” said Harry with a slow smile. “ _Crucio_.” He gathered the papers on his desk into a stack and neatly squared them up as the man fell out of his chair, teeth grinding against the pain. “I prefer it when it’s more painful for you than me, though.”

OoOoOoOoO

Snape crawled into bed that night exhausted and furious. And—though he hated to admit it—slightly worried, as well. Potter didn’t used to enjoy torture—didn’t used to employ it at all. He used to moralize and agonize over the treatment of his captives—the ones he’d let live, at any rate. Even so, he hadn’t tortured the ones he’d killed. Bellatrix had fought, certainly, but had met a rather merciful burst of green light at the end, and Wormtail had even been allowed time to close his eyes.

“Did you have fun with your Master tonight, Severus?” a smug voice purred.

Snape rolled onto his side. Of all the horrors the Dark Lord had inflicted on him, having Lucius Malfoy as a roommate was a particularly insidious anguish. “He’s your Dark Lord, too, you know,” Severus pointed out.

“I suppose, though I choke every time I have to call the man— _boy_ , rather—Master. _You_ don’t seem to have trouble calling him Master, Severus,” Lucius noted.

“Well, when I _say_ ‘Master,’ what I _think_ is ‘infernally wretched, completely incompetent young twerp who needs to be taught a lesson.’ If you just give the word Master a new meaning, it’s quite easy, actually.” Lucius didn’t respond. He’d probably dozed off. He often did that when Snape was in the middle of a sentence.

Casting a look at the dark ceiling, Snape turned onto his back. Something shivered beneath his skin, and he froze. _Not again_. He wet his lips delicately, glancing across the shadowed room to see whether Malfoy really was asleep. He seemed to be, although there was no way of knowing for certain. Again, there was a quiver, a sensation of something shifting over Snape’s right flank. _Damn you, boy,_ he thought wrathfully. Potter had marked them all, taking away the menacing insignia of his predecessor, replacing it with something less...intimidating.

Poppy, who was not marked, but had been present at the ‘marking,’ even thought it was ‘cute,’ the slender green snake with sparkling eyes. Certainly small enough to be concealed, and nothing much to complain about...except for the fact that nothing about Potter was as it seemed, and these innocuous tattoos were a prime example. They _moved_. They _watched_. And through them, Harry Potter knew every movement his faithful followers made. Snape hated it. It was disgusting and invasive and—

 _Oh, fuck. Not there—_ He sucked in a shallow breath as the serpent unwound itself, flickering along his body, winding around his thigh. He felt it, could have seen it had he been undressed, could almost _hear_ its movements, like the shudder of dry leaves brushing together. Its magic shivered just beneath the surface of his skin, its poisonous green unseen below his robes, though Snape could swear he could feel its power pulsing, and would not have been surprised if there had been a faint glow under the covers.

Up the inside of his leg, along his thigh like the finest French silk, rubbing gently, shifting to squirm beneath his balls. Snape grunted, schooling himself to lie still, fists clenched tightly shut, his nails almost breaking his own skin. This was the worst of it, feeling the flood of warmth that followed its path, the sizzle of the powerful current circling his cock.

“ _Little bastard_ ,” he hissed at the night.

It paused at this, then a bolt of something—like a thread of lust—flicked out, shot up his length. Snape bit his tongue to keep from crying out. _Tongue. Tongue. He was working on that, last he spoke of the mark; he was working on making the tongue move._ Then it was rising, rising just as _he_ was rising, right up into the air, tenting the blanket, tenting his sleeping gown, and the snake was curling around his rigid member. Snape’s hips had a life of their own, and he slammed one clawed fist between his teeth, hating the desperate, muted snarls he was making, hating the loss of control.

_And there was nothing there._

It was nothing but a mark, a magic. There was nothing solid, no lover’s hand or lips or voice, even. It was a punishment, a way of demonstrating the complete hold Harry had on him. It was paint on—and under—the skin. Snape would not give the loathsome cretin the satisfaction of touching himself, of giving in and pressing flesh to flesh.

The electricity rode his cock, squeezing and sparking spasms of pure need from his muscles, his abdomen twitching, his sack pulled tight. And then, just as cunningly as it had begun, it was over, the spelled snake slowing and loosening, his breaths deepening, the night closing in, his erection waning. Eventually, the little charm made its way back to its place on Snape’s arse, curling up without a by-your-leave.

“Absolute little _fucker_ ,” Snape growled in frustration.

_He never used to torture._

OoOoOoOoO

Snape collapsed in a chair a couple of seats away from his Master, scowling round the room as if daring it to remark on his bedraggled appearance or the bags under his eyes. It was a minor consolation that Potter looked just as bad, his wayward hair even worse than normal, his eyes red-rimmed. It looked as though no one was going to enjoy the usual breakfast conference.

Severus picked at his breakfast, ignoring the fact that the Dark Lord wasn’t eating at all. Lucius was trying to justify his hair-care expenses, while Nott sneered and made snide comments about raging insecurities almost under his breath. Lucius was ignoring him, though Amycus giggled audibly throughout the recitation.

Eventually, Harry lost his temper. “That’s _enough!_ ” he shouted, slamming his glass down. “We’re supposed to be helping one another! Working together to create synergy! Malfoy, I’m sick of your bloody whinging! I’ve got a fucking country to run now, and I’m bloody well going to do it on budget! Nott, you can shut the hell up! Amycus, cease that blasted sniggering—it’s just plain disturbing. The next one of you that insists on trying my temper gets to see his entrails up close and personal. Understood?”

There was mutinous muttering. Snape sighed. The boy was always too lenient. It was nothing but kittens and sunshine all the time round here, with him in charge. With Voldemort, Malfoy would have been sporting a fashionable ‘singed to the root’ look the moment he mentioned his hair, and none of the rest of them would have had the balls to get out of the starting gate. Harry needed to learn to be less subtle. Sometimes Snape privately wondered if he oughtn’t offer a bit of tutoring—but no, that never worked with him.

After sullenly picking at their food for the next quarter of an hour, and being treated to a discourse on effective communication and tactical decision-making, the occupants of the table were finally dismissed. Snape set aside his fork and looked up to see Potter glaring petulantly at him. “ _What_ —er, is the matter, Master?” he asked.

“Sleep well, did you?” Harry asked belligerently.

Snape could feel himself flushing right up to his hairline. “No, you _know_ I didn’t,” he growled through clenched teeth. “Since someone was busy entertaining himself and taking another dose of revenge with their manipulative assault on my person!”

Now Harry flushed, looking angry. “ _Assault!_ ” he squawked. “It’s no such thing! You’d think I’d beaten you with a club or something!”

“You know perfectly well what it is! It’s—it’s a calculated abuse—an insult to my dignity!”

Potter sucked in a horrified breath. “It’s nothing of the sort! Good God, man! I can’t believe you’d get so worked up over a bit of hanky panky!”

Snape looked round wildly, flustered and fearing someone was listening in. “It WAS NOT! ‘Hanky panky’ implies that both parties were willing— _hell_ , it implies both parties were _present!_ You weren’t even there! You didn’t even actually touch me!”

This seemed to diffuse Harry’s outrage just a little. “Oh. Would it have been better if I was?”

“ _WHAT?_ N-no!” Snape was sure stumbling over the words had been a fair indication of what he really thought, but he couldn’t do much about it, choosing to avert his eyes and escape his Master’s presence as soon as possible.

Potter continued to look thoughtful. Snape didn’t think it boded well.

OoOoOoOoO

By the time Snape was finished in his labs, he was in a far better mood. Potter seemed to think it was a dreadful indignity for Snape to spend his life perfecting the Wolfsbane potion, but it was far nicer than being subjected to students like Longbottom. Aside from that, if Severus ever managed a true cure for Lycanthropy, he’d be famous, Dark Lord or no Dark Lord. Anyway, fiddling with the amounts of ingredients and observing results was often cheering. There was nothing like a dark workroom to skulk in, esoteric substances to work with, and several hours of absolute quiet.

He was whistling as he came upstairs, even if the tune was something like a funeral march.

“SNAPE!” The mark flared, and Severus started. Harry came flying out of one of the rooms, his robes snapping behind him. When he saw Snape, the boy made a beeline for him, his frown ferocious. “Take a look at this!” he demanded, waving a copy of the Prophet under Snape’s nose.

Snape snatched it away for a closer look. His eyebrows rose. “Oh, my,” he murmured. “ _Previous Confidante of Potter to Join Opposition,_ ” he read aloud. “What a headline. Granger is really joining the European Resistance?”

The distraught Dark Lord was shaking with rage. “Yes—oh, yes! She warned me! She kept saying it wasn’t good to consolidate all the power in Britain, and that if I kept up this—this—‘tyranny’—she’d have to stop me. She doesn’t understand! She’s not seeing the big picture! The bushy-headed _bitch._ ”

“Very much so,” Snape replied.

Harry sniffed. He prized his glasses away from his face long enough to furiously wipe away a stray tear or two. “I hate women. Dray _never_ would have done this to me.”

“I think he would, actually,” Severus advised laconically. “Particularly if he ever heard you call him ‘Dray.’”

Harry turned on the man. “He would _not!_ You didn’t know him at all! My wonderful blond lover would have done anything for me!”

Snape couldn’t hold back a sneer. “You’re making me ill.”

Potter ground his teeth together for a moment, his face reddening before he burst out with, “You—Why do—oh, _sod it!_ I should just off you and the rest of the whole damn human race and be done with it!”

For just a moment, Severus felt a brief tendril of fear snake through his gut. After all, Potter was strong enough to do it, and had killed before. Why was it that every fascistic ruler eventually lost his bleeding mind and wanted to murder everyone? Of course, anyone having to put up with Malfoy’s constant prissy bleating would soon be contemplating a homicidal rampage.

Still, it wouldn’t help to point this out to Potter. Potter was already on shaky ground. Potter needed a firm push back toward reality. Or—more likely—a careful nudge away from the precipice of madness. “Calm down, calm down,” Snape instructed. “It’s not that bad.”

Lucius Malfoy rushed into the room. “Master!” he called out to Harry. “You look at this—just _look!_ ” he said, holding up a pair of very distended, saggy underpants. “Macnair has been _stealing_ my briefs. I _demand_ you bring him to heel! It’s the most revolting—”

“Shut _up,_ you fool!” Snape growled at him.

Harry shut his eyes for a long moment. If Snape knew Dark Lords, the boy was thinking, ‘Just kill them all.’ He shuddered a bit. “I’m going to bed,” Harry announced in a level voice. He turned and walked away.

“How rude,” Lucius remarked.

Snape hurried after Harry. “You mustn’t mind him,” he said desperately, trying to sound calm and encouraging. “He’s just, well, _Malfoy._ ”

“I’ve tried to change him,” the Dark Lord responded. “I’ve tried to _fix_ things, but it just isn’t working!”

Severus grabbed Harry’s arm, but was shrugged off. “He’s had forty odd years of being a complete and utter bastard with absolutely no consequence. A few afternoons of ‘Kiss the Baby’ are hardly going to get him to undergo a complete conversion to a new morality. To him, his viewpoint _is_ moral. No one’s ever told him differently. It’s just...it takes time. Just give it more time, that’s all! Rome wasn’t burnt in a day.”

Harry gave him a startled look. “Don’t you mean; ‘Rome wasn’t _built_ in a day?’”

Snape gave a slight shrug. “I’ve no doubt that’s true as well. Is that the saying, though? Didn’t Rome burn? With fiddles going in the background? I distinctly remember—”

“Fitting end,” Harry muttered. His face was stark. Severus had never seen those glorious green eyes so dull.

“You know, you’re not being very fair,” Severus pointed out, wishing Minerva was still alive to assist him. Non-discrimination was her sort of thing, not his. “After all, not tolerating others’ intolerance is a bit hypocritical of you, I should say. The world needs variety and differences of opinion. Evil is one of those spices of life that...er, makes things more...savoury and delicious. Um. And you mustn’t forget our policy of being an equal opportunity regime.” Potter really was walking rather fast; even with his long legs, Snape could barely keep up with the man.

“I don’t want to talk anymore, Snape,” Harry said flatly. They’d reached his bedroom door, and he yanked it open. “All I want is to drown myself in Firewhisky while I—while I...think things over. So why don’t you just sod off and enjoy your time away from me?” he added with a vicious look on his face.

Snape contemplated following the Dark Lord, but decided it would be unwise. Potter had been having far too much fun lately playing with Snape’s more intimate body parts. The man could hardly imagine how much worse things would be if he actually had the gall to invite himself into his Master’s bedroom.

Still, Severus couldn’t help worrying as he walked away. Potter had always had his bad points, it was true—arrogance, impulsiveness, thoughtlessness, annoyingly appealing cheekiness—but he’d rarely been bitter or despairing, and he’d never made random threats to purge the earth of all humanity. Although that _did_ fit in with the arrogance, in its godlike self-righteousness.

When he reached his rooms, Snape discovered Lucius was occupying the shower—again. “Get out, you!” he called, pounding on the door. “Not that your head couldn’t use a good soak, but I need to wash the stink of potions off me.”

“It’s open!” Lucius sang out cheerfully. He was always jovial in the midst of his hair and skin regimen. “And really—I didn’t know you ever bathed. Do come in; I’m eager to give you some suggestions.”

“Oh, shut up,” Snape responded, exasperated. He was unbelievably tired, enough so that he actually entered the bathroom, averting his eyes from his colleague. He cleaned his teeth as Lucius stepped out and dried himself off.

“It’s all yours,” Lucius informed him.

“Erm. Aren’t you leaving, then?”

“Without my evening magical mud mask and conjured cucumber eye treatment? I think not!”

Wincing, Snape quickly unrobed and got in the still-steamy shower. He always felt it was very unpleasant to get into a wet shower—it felt so _used_ —but there was nothing for it. He quickly washed his hair, and then spent some time on his body, scrubbing especially hard anywhere that damned snake had been.

“You know, it was just like Potter to think it so very ironic to use a small snake as his mark just so that, whenever a Death Eater is summoned, he has the dubious pleasure of once again being bitten on the arse,” he remarked.

“What on earth are you talking about, Severus?” Lucius replied. Through the frosted glass, Snape could see the man brushing his hair intently, probably counting the strokes.

“I meant the _mark_ ,” Snape replied with a sigh. “Has he ever made yours bite you? I positively _hate_ it when he does that. I mean, one snake to another I could live with, but the moving and the biting—”

“Snake? I didn’t get a snake. He marked you with a snake?” Malfoy asked suspiciously. He rose ominously and headed for the shower, his head tilted to the side.

Snape tried to cover himself. “What? What? No! I was just—being metaphorical!” he said hastily. Potter had marked them one at a time, and Snape had only assumed everyone had gotten the same thing.

Lucius threw back the shower door. “Well, where is it? Come now—if you’ll show me yours, then I’ll show you mine.”

Snape scrambled to conceal both the mark and everything else he didn’t want seen—which was everything. “Leave me alone!” he snarled. Since he couldn’t cover everything, he turned to face the wall, one hand grabbing his buttock.

Lucius swatted his hand away and let out a guffaw. “Oh, dear. I _knew_ he liked you best!”

“Hated me worst,” Snape muttered sullenly.

“Want to see mine?”

The ex-Potions Master’s shoulders sagged. “Oh, all right.” He turned and saw, to his amazement, that Lucius had lifted his hair, and there was a small yellow smiley face on the nape of his neck. Beneath it were the words ‘Have a Nice Day!’ “What!? But—you can cover yours right up—”

“So can you,” Lucius retorted. “It’s funny, though; everyone else got these—these faces. I’ve seen them. Macnair’s is on his bicep, and Crabbe’s is on his chest—I wonder why he graced _you_ with _that?_ ”

“And...and does yours move?” Severus inquired uncertainly.

“Well...no, not really. It whistles sometimes, though, every now and then for _hours_ on end, which drives me batty.”

They retired for the evening, but Snape was having a devil of a time falling asleep. He felt utterly at sea, and couldn’t help but wonder about the significance of the tiny snake, and the fact that it occasionally performed rather raunchy acts of sex upon his body. _Was_ it really a form of psychological torture, or was it something else completely?

...And how difficult would it be to use to his advantage?

OoOoOoOoO

Eventually, Severus gave up on the notion of slumber and went to find his overwrought overlord. He knocked tentatively on the man’s door, flinching when a harsh voice demanded to know just who he thought he was.

“It’s me,” he said, confident that his voice could not be mistaken. “I wanted to, er...utilize your open-door policy.”

After a few minutes of silence, the door swung inward to reveal a tousled and tired Harry Potter.

“What?” Harry asked wearily. He didn’t sound as though he really cared. He sounded as though he’d given up on caring altogether.

“Why do I have a small serpent tattooed on my arse, when everyone else has something rather different?” Snape inquired, crossing his arms and arching a brow.

Potter reddened. “Oh, that. Um, about that—yeah, I wondered when you were going to figure that out. I just—I just wanted to see if I could. It was a low-risk, high-yield opportunity. It’s the parseltongue, see? I...used it to make yours. Because of that, it formed differently.” Snape _could_ remember Potter speaking in parseltongue when marking him, the magic slithering along his skin, meandering over his arse, then burrowing in.

“I see. And on my arse, Potter? Was there some curiosity behind that choice, as well?”

“Er...I just wanted a look,” Harry admitted to his feet.

“Do you still want to kill us all?” Snape blurted out suddenly.

“Well, I’d sure like to end _my_ existence right about now,” the Dark Lord responded miserably. “Why?”

“Because I have the perfect counter-argument,” Snape replied triumphantly. “You don’t want to end the world,” he insisted.

“Yeah?” Potter looked up suspiciously. “Why not?”

“Sex,” Snape answered seriously. “Wild, incredible, passionate sex. Often.”

Harry’s eyes had gone rather round. “Um. Really? Do you mean...?” He bit his lip hopefully.

“Oh, yes,” Snape purred, the corner of his lip curling upward. “And I think we should start right away.”

OoOoOoOoO

Potter did not scrimp on bedroom accessories. Apart from the bed itself—a massive contraption with curtains, mirrors, and hooks on the headboard—everything one might conceivably bring to bed was opulent, as well.

“Potter, do you really need a solid gold dildo?” Snape asked. “Doesn’t it...I don’t know—chafe, or something of that nature?”

“I’m allergic to inferior metals,” Harry informed him. “Besides, the inset rubies make great ridges, and feel _fantastic_ when you—”

“Thank you for that. Is it really _necessary?_ ” he inquired, eyeing the toy from several angles. He was certainly impressed with its size. It was damned heavy, as well—but of course Potter could easily levitate the thing.

“It’s, um, kind of fun. You want to try it?” Potter offered hopefully.

“No! That—that’s _unsanitary,_ ” Snape blurted, shoving the thing back into Harry’s hands.

“Oh, all right,” Harry said sadly. “But be _careful_ with it; for heaven’s sake, you could brain somebody with this thing.”

“Not _you,_ ” Snape replied with a sneer. He whipped off his robe, and stretched out on the bed. “Now. Undress, Potter.”

Harry scowled. “Just _who_ exactly is the resident Dark Lord, here?” he asked, pushing his glassed up determinedly. “I really don’t ask for much, but I think it’s important to keep the chain of command intact.”

“Fine,” Severus responded. “What would you have me do, _Master?_ ”

“ _You_ undress,” Harry ordered.

Snape rolled his eyes. “I already _have_. Are you blind?”

“Oh. Right.” Harry shifted uncomfortably at the foot of the bed.

“Well? For fuck’s sake, one would think you’d never done this before.”

Harry roasted the man with a glance. “I don’t usually _order_ people into bed with me, no,” he replied.

“Well, that would explain it. You probably rarely get shagged, then.” The fool was starting to sulk, his lip jutting out petulantly, and Snape capitulated with his usual ill grace. “All right, then. Come on up here.”

Harry crawled up, hesitantly settling beside the man. Severus had to remind himself that whatever he’d done, and no matter how many people he’d killed, or how powerful he was, Potter was still young for his age in some ways. War had left him little time for the usual adolescent interactions. No wonder he was so hung up on Draco.

Snape reached over, briefly touching Potter’s face. The younger wizard’s eyes dropped shut, and Severus slowly moved his hand down to the string on Harry’s pyjama bottoms, undoing the knot. A bit of colour had climbed up Harry’s face, and he traced his lips with his tongue several times, wetting them. Snape pushed the pyjama bottoms and underpants down slender hips.

He glanced up. Harry was very red now, but stubbornly kept his hands at his sides, refusing to try to hide himself. Ah, Gryffindor bravery. Such a convenient trait. “All right?” he asked, his voice low. At Harry’s nod, he graced the lad with a smile. Moving fluidly, he pushed Potter’s legs apart, rubbing a fingertip hypnotically along the back of one knee. There was certainly something to be said for the sight of the Dark Lord, resting on one elbow, legs splayed, nude from the waist down.

“Touch me,” Potter ordered, his voice husky.

Severus didn’t pretend ignorance. He pressed the heel of his hand against the boy’s growing erection, feeling warm blood beneath skin. He wrapped his fingers round the flesh, not hurrying, watching Potter gulp for air. “My sweet Master,” Snape purred. “How very succulent you look.”

Harry’s head, which had fallen back a little, snapped up, his eyes bright and sharp. “Suck me,” he whispered. It was difficult to tell whether it was a plea or a command.

Snape didn’t bother to ask. He lowered his head, breathing in the sweetish smell of Harry’s skin filling his lungs. Rolling Potter’s scrotum around in his fingers, Severus dipped the tip of his tongue into the young man’s slit, removing the salty drop of precome. The garbled cry Harry made in response was rather entertaining.

“This is one area, my micromanaging Master, that you will find I go above and beyond the call of duty,” he murmured. Swirling his tongue around the swollen head, Snape sucked the organ down to the dusky hairs that framed it so nicely. A hand clutched at his hair, a guttural stream of words pouring forth from Harry.

“Oh, _fuck,_ I knew—I knew that damnable mouth—of yours—had to be good—had to—for something—other than—pissing me off—oh, _yes_ —you—we _need_ —to get along. Oh, fuck, do that again, please. I _like_ this side of you—you know—you’re a real go-getter when you want—oh, yes—and I—love—movers and sh-shakers,” Harry gasped.

Snape hummed in agreement, enjoying the way Potter’s body nearly seized up in pleasure at the sensation. He pulled back enough to remark, “Perhaps I’ve finally learned to play hardball.” He ran a finger over the younger wizard’s perineum, sucking Harry’s downy sack into the heated cavern of his mouth. He travelled down further, finding the tight ring of muscle, and sucking at it, pressing his tongue inside.

“Fuck, fuck, ohfuckme, fuck me, please,” Harry groaned. “We need—I need—I don’t want to—too soon—quality control,” he panted.

Snape reached for his robes, plucking the slender vial of lubricant out of a capacious pocket. “And see what a good employee I am, anticipating the needs of my manager?” he asked, his smile dry, his eyes holding a banked fire.

“So good,” Harry agreed. “ _Sooo_ good,” he added, as Snape breached him, tenderly preparing him with a long, thin finger. He looked up at Snape, flushed and perspiring. “God, that’s it—take the initiative! _Take_ it!”

Snape grabbed one of Harry’s legs by the ankle, nudging himself against the Dark lord’s entrance, slowly sheathing himself. He kissed Potter lightly on the lips. He began moving, Harry arching and moaning beneath them.

It was surprisingly good. There was something very satisfying about having Potter pinned beneath him, a rather fetching blush staining cheeks and neck, and crawling down his chest. Severus leaned forward, nipping and sucking Harry’s skin just beneath the ear.

Harry grabbed hold of his backside, trying to press him deeper. “Oh! There! That angleGodSnapeGod,” he choked out, completely oblivious to the way his hands covered the mark he’d made on the man, or the way Snape was making his own mark in return.

“You know, I’m a little—oh, yes, lovely—surprised you let—me top,” Snape panted into Potter’s ear.

“Well—you know—I’m all for—empowering my employees,” Harry returned. “And—ah—shifting paradigms— _harder!_ ”

Snape felt himself poised on the brink of ecstasy, and swatted Harry’s hand away from the young man’s prick, adroitly pumping it himself. “You like that— _Master?_ My—ability—to multitask? How g—god—goal-oriented I am? Willing—ohfuck, you’re so tight—to go the extra mile?”

Keening loudly, Harry came. Severus sped up his thrusts, holding Harry’s legs, taking advantage of that limber body until he felt the heat and the scent and the rousing, living, contracting body of Harry. Sated, Harry seemed to be speaking in tongues, until Severus realized he was speaking in Parseltongue, and the snake was moving, rippling under his skin, sliding right up his—he gasped, and surrendered to his climax.

To his own surprise, Snape pulled Harry close, holding him tightly, wrapping himself round Potter’s body in a most undignified way. “You don’t always have to be in control,” he informed the Dark Lord. “Sometimes it feels very good to give it up.”

“Mmm,” Harry agreed drowsily. “You know, Hermione is just sure you hate me. She says you’re good for me. Because—” he broke off for a yawn –“because you always stand up to me. She once told me she respects you, and thinks you’re a good man.”

“I see. No, actually I don’t. What are you on about, and what does Granger have to do with how fabulous sex makes the world a better place? Or makes it seem like it, if only for a little while.”

Harry yawned again, snuggling closer, not seeming to mind Severus’ suffocating position at all. “Never mind. We’ll talk about it in the morning. For now, rest assured that I’m impressed with how result-driven you are, and how you always keep the, um, bottom line in mind. For now, I think it’s time to put this one to bed.”

OoOoOoOoO

“Good morning, my fine associates!” the obnoxious overlord greeted the table cheerfully. “I’m glad you’re all here, and I hope you brought your appetites, because we’ve got some wonderful Dutch pancakes, and I’ve got some new ideas that need to be chewed over!”

Lucius groaned slightly, and Severus saw Macnair surreptitiously mark a word off of his ‘buzzword bingo’ card. He smiled a little. Perhaps it was merely the mind-blowing sex, but Snape was rather glad things were back to normal.

“Now, you all know our competitors have joined together in a sort of mega-conglomeration, intent on undermining us. But I think that if we stick together, change our image a bit, and pay close attention to our PR, we might just come out okay!”

Severus gave the man a slick smile, and was amused when the Dark Lord flushed slightly. “I’m sure we’re all eager to know, so I’ll be the first to ask; what did you have in mind, Master?”

Lucius looked ill. Harry looked delighted.

“I’m glad you asked, Severus! Now, as much as I love the Weasley twins, I have to admit that forcing Muggles to carry Wizard currency was not thought out well. Not that I’m playing the blame game! They couldn’t have known that any decent amount of Galleons is quite weighty for a Muggle, who can’t levitate them or anything. That was my fault. I should have been keeping a closer eye on things. Anyway, I think it’s time we spoke with the goblins and worked on a good, healthy merger.”

Now most of the table looked a bit interested, even confused.

“On top of that, I’ve realized that delegation is the key to successful leadership. That’s why I’m opening the office of Minister of Magic again, and offering the post to Severus Snape.”

Everyone looked stunned.

Harry smiled brightly at them. “Severus is well able to conceptualise my methodology, understands my feelings on risk-management, and is capable of networking and streamlining, as well as getting our vision statement out there to the world! I think he’s _just_ what this regime needs! He’ll shake things up a bit, and can handle any—ah, interfacing with the press. He’s got versatility, and he’s capable of taking on the functions of many positions.”

“Like missionary,” Snape muttered without thinking.

“What?” Amycus asked suspiciously.

“Er. Like a missionary, I’ll spread our vision to the rest of the world,” he recovered. He gave Harry another quick smile. Potter had his issues, but Snape was beginning to find this renewed faith in humanity, not to mention his boundless and misplaced optimism, rather engaging. With only a moderate amount of arse-licking, Severus had made astounding progress in his quest for power. The sex was rather good, too.

He rose from his seat, and thanked his manager for the wonderful opportunity. “I respect our Dark Lord’s leadership, and I think we’re going to have a very profitable and advantageous relationship,” he told the group with a self-satisfied twitch of the lips. “It’s a win-win situation.”

* * *


End file.
